73
“Leaving in fine that Port of fair sweet flood, and, dight once more to cut the salty spray; off from the coast-line for a spell we stood, till deep blue water ’neath our kelsons lay; for frigid Notus, in his fainty mood, was fain to drive us leewards to the Bay made in that quarter by the crookèd shore, whence rich Sofála sendeth golden ore.